The Rebels: The Kent Family Chronicles (45 page)

“Captain Rackham—” Anne struggled to keep her voice level. “—it should be evident many times over that you’re not welcome here.”

He shrugged, surveying the closed curtains at the bay of front windows. “That may be. But you’ll have to put up with me for a bit, my girl, because you owe me a kindness.”

“What do you mean, a kindness? I owe you nothing!”

Under the drooping right lid, the pupil of Rackham’s eye seemed to burn. “But you do. I did not appreciate your speaking to Will Caleb about my letters and my visits.”

“Oh? I’m so sorry. Be assured I’ll speak to him again, Captain.” She started for the hall. “You will please leave.”

“In due course.”

Still smiling, Rackham sat down and crossed his legs.

More frightened than ever, Anne stood in the hall, not knowing what to do. She realized Abraham had been wakened by the voices. His faint cry sounded from the darkness at the back of the house:

“Mama?”

“Go to sleep, Abraham,” she called. “It’s all right, I’m here.”

There was a fretful murmur from his bedroom, then silence.

Slowly Anne looked back at the man lounging near the hearth. Rackham was studying her figure that her dress showed to advantage despite its shabbiness. He made no attempt to conceal his interest.

She glanced at the French sword hanging above the mantel. Could she pull it down fast enough, if necessary? The Kentucky rifle beneath the sword was empty; useless, except perhaps as a club—

Determined not to let her fear get the best of her, Anne folded her arms across her breasts, addressed Rackham sharply:

“Was it you who sent someone to the door two nights ago? A man pretending to be hunting a family named Russell?”

“Aye, I used a lad from
Gull
for that duty. Same one who watched the place tonight, then drove me out here in the coach.”

“So you have been spying—!”

“Call it what you wish. We have private matters to discuss. I didn’t want anyone else’s company but yours, my dear.”

Once more he showed his teeth in what he presumed was a charming smile. To Anne it resembled the grimace of a fanged animal. Rackham went on:

“Gull
anchored in Boston harbor last Sunday morning. We took a mighty handsome prize off the Carolinas. As I remarked when I came in, I thought you’d be interested in that.” He feigned readiness to rise and leave. “However, if you insist you’re not—”

Despite her fear, Anne said, “A British prize?”

“Correct. With some sharp sailing and gun work on our part, she hauled down her colors mighty fast. The total proceeds of the auction come—ah, came to about half a million sterling pounds.” He paused. “Care to hear more?”

The sum stunned her; left her confused and uncertain about how to proceed.

She had an overpowering urge to dash from the house; Malachi Rackham would never have spied on her, nor come all the way to Cambridge in the rain, out of sheer concern for the Kent investment. That was doubly obvious from the way he continued to glance at her breasts, the line of her hip, like a man anticipating a sumptuous dinner—

Yet if he wasn’t lying to her—if
Gull
had indeed captured a merchantman—the prospects were dizzying, and she ought to’ know the whole story.

Rackham tried to resolve her quandry:

“Fetch me a port—or a rum if you have it—and I’ll be happy to share the details.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve nothing to give you.”

“Ah, Mrs. Kent, that’s where you are quite wrong.” His smile left no doubt about his meaning.

“Get out,” Anne said, livid. “At once.”

“Belay that, if you please,” Rackham chuckled. “I’m not your husband, after all. In fact I assume your husband is still far away—? Serving his country honorably while his wife remains unconsolable because her bed’s empty—?”

“Get
out!”
Anne exploded, raising a clenched fist.

Rackham’s veneer of sham politeness crumbled. He reached her in two swift strides, jerked her upraised hand down, leaned close until she nearly choked from the stench of rum:

“You listen here, Mrs. Kent. That very first day we met, I tabbed you for what you are—a lass who fancies herself stronger than any man she’ll ever meet. And shows it. Well, permit me to tell you something. Captain Rackham is a fellow who doesn’t hold with being put down in such fashion. I don’t like being put down with haughty looks or nasty no-thank-you’s at the doorstep. Still—I’ll admit that’s part of your charm—the fact you think I’m a nobody and don’t bother to hide it. I expect that’s the reason I made up my mind that morning on Hancock’s Wharf that I’d take you—with your agreement or without.”

“Take—?”

“Here, here, no silly prudery.” The cocksure smile somehow acquired a malevolent twist. “I’ve been sporting a good twenty years with the gentle sex. Never had one of ’em turn me down. Till you.”

“You drunken popinjay liar—!”

He grabbed her wrist again. “You watch your language, woman—”

Anne raked his face with her free hand, her nails leaving bleeding scratches. Rackham struck her.

She staggered, crying out. Her mind held one dreadful word—

Madman.

She didn’t know what warped memories or conceits made him what he was. But she knew that every rebuff she’d given him must have festered weeks, months in the mazes of his head. She knew he was drunk, and dangerous—

“Mama?”

Abraham was calling again, frightened by her outcry. Anne struggled to her feet. But somehow, she couldn’t avoid Rackham’s hands. Big hands; hair-matted; sliding under her arms—

Rackham’s thumbs pressed the fabric over her breasts. “Even in a temper, you’re a soft, dear sight, Mrs. Kent. I can’t properly explain it, but I’ve never fancied a woman as much as I fancy you. Perhaps it’s because I’m not supposed to, eh?”

“Damn your eyes—
let me go!”

That only provoked more laughter:

“Ah, stop, Mrs. Kent. You must want a man so bad you hurt from it. That little fellow you’re wed to—he can’t be much in the cock department, now admit—”

Writhing away from him, she spat in his face.

Again Rackham struck her. She tumbled at his feet, stunned. Abraham started to cry loudly. Rackham leaned down, his shadow distorting across the wall as he jerked her head up by a fist in her hair:

“I want to tell you about your property, Mrs. Kent. Your investment—a man who wants to do that should be treated right, eh?
Eh?”

He yanked her hair. She uttered another hoarse yelp. Rackham laughed:

“Yes indeed, I want to invite you aboard
Gull
for a pleasant and diverting evening. As I say—you owe me. You got me roasted by that sanctimonious old bastard Caleb. But I’ll forgive you—if you’ll visit the ship and be nice and agreeable when we get there—”

Anne screamed deliberately, hoping to attract someone’s attention outside. Abraham’s terrified cries sounded as stridently as her own.

“Be quiet!”
Rackham shouted, letting go of her hair and smashing the side of her head with his fist.

She lurched sideways, reaching clumsily toward the mantel; toward Philip’s gleaming sword—

Rackham hit her harder. She fell, struck her temple on the floor, moaned, opened and closed one stretched-out hand, then lay still.

Anne awoke briefly to the sensation of motion.

She heard carriage wheels and springs creaking. The clop and splash of hoofs along a rutted road. Rain pattering overhead—

Through a slot window she glimpsed a distant farmstead, a yellow smear of lamplight in the rain. She realized she was leaning against the curve of a man’s left shoulder.

She struggled away, only to have a sweaty-smelling hand clamp over her mouth.

The places where Rackham had hit her and the other place where she’d struck her head all hurt terribly. Rackham inclined his head to slobber a kiss on her face. She tried to wrench the other way.

That made him burst out with his damnable laugh—and hold her more tightly.

His left hand still covered her mouth. She bit at the fingers. He jerked them away, freeing his arm so he could squeeze her throat in the vee of his elbow, cutting off her wind:

“Screaming’s useless, my girl. I told you it’s one of my lads up on the box of this hired rig. Even at the dock in Boston, the. sight of Malachi Rackham knocking some wench about to get her into a dinghy and out to his ship ain’t—isn’t likely to cause any commotion. The tavern trulls, they sometimes say yes, then start a squall on the pier, wanting a higher price. I’ve often been seen roughing ’em up a wee bit. So you won’t get any help by yelling or—
bitch!”
he howled as she bit hard into the fleshy back of his hand.

He flung her to the floor of the rocking carriage, kicked her twice in the ribs, bashed her eye with his knuckles, bringing new, nauseous darkness swirling over her.

A pinpoint of light; dull orange.

And motion again. But of a different order this time. Gentler—

She recognized sounds. The lap of water against hull planks. The creak of a ship’s upper and lower capstans being turned in tandem. Chain being pulled up by the messenger cables—

Anchor chain?

Anne Kent opened her eyes; saw her skirt and petticoat hiked around her knees. She was lying in a ship’s bunk.

She shifted her throbbing head to the left, saw Malachi Rackham—and a cabin where a single glass-paneled lantern swayed overhead on a beam hook. The two large oval stern windows showed a spatter of lamp-gilded raindrops.

Rackham lounged in a chair beside an oak table. Both chair and table were bolted to the decking. Rackham lolled a drinking cup back and forth in one hand as he watched Anne with an amused expression. His showy coat and breeches hung on a peg near his wall-mounted drop-front desk. He wore drawers of soiled gray linen, nothing else.

“Hallo, Mrs. Kent,” he said, scratching the curled hair on his chest. It was as dark as that on his head. “Wondered how long it’d take you to liven up. Been an hour since I brought you aboard.”

He held out the cup. “Little rum?”

“The—” She was so dazed, she could barely speak. “The ship’s under way—”

“Oh, not quite as yet. But getting there, getting there. My pilot’ll take us through the island channels as soon as the tide’s fair. We may meet some foul weather, but I decided to risk it. I thought it’d be advisable not to tell Captain Caleb how we disposed of the prize we took with
Gull.
Caleb and me—I—we’re only temporary bedfellows. As he’ll find out shortly after he sails
Fidelity
back to Boston. The British prize I mentioned did bring a handsome sum at the sell-off. But not in American waters, I’m sorry to say.”

Rackham feigned sorrow. “We encountered unfavorable winds, don’t you see. Had to beat south to Saint Eustatius in the Leewards. Only safe harbor available—”

He was amused at his own reporting of the lie. He clucked his tongue:

“Yes, truly unfortunate. But the Dutchmen were accommodating, damned accommodating. We had the trial—the auction—the only problem being, as Caleb explained, that under the terms of our Articles, a prize disposed of in a foreign port means all the proceeds go to captain and crew. The owners, God pity ’em, miss out. We’ve already divided the share belonging to you and your husband. Understand now why I’ve such a loyal bunch of lads? They’ll help me abduct a lady anytime.”

Grinning, Rackham slopped down more rum.

Anne had to struggle to form a coherent sentence:

“You—you cheated Caleb—”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Kent! We couldn’t help what happened. Unfavorable winds!”

“Liar. You—you planned something like that—all along—”

Rackham shrugged. “Well—it’s possible. But it’s done. Now there’s an even more profitable prospect ahead. We’ll be setting a coasting course for New York.”

“The—British—the British hold—”

“New York? Indeed they do. Why do you think I’m heading there? The privateersmen are taking a lot of prizes, you see. I’m sure I can find a buyer for a spanking new beauty like
Gull.
A little work and she’ll serve nicely as a transport to replace one of the captured ones. I wager plenty of Tory merchants in New York’ll be glad to bid on her.”

“The ship isn’t yours to sell!” Anne cried hoarsely.

“Why, who’s here to dispute my right—except you? And we’ve other matters to attend to, yes we do—”

Still grinning, he ran a hand down between his thighs and squeezed his crotch.

Anne felt gagging sourness in her mouth; felt an urge to scream and keep screaming and overcame it only with maximum effort.

“Right here—” Rackham was still fingering his groin. “—right here I’ve the machinery to keep your thoughts diverted to subjects more pleasant than ships and who owns ’em. Soon as I strike a good bargain for
Gull,
we’ll have a grand holiday together in New York town. Live elegantly, I’ll guarantee it.”

“You—you’d sell out Caleb when he hired and trusted you—?”

Rackham’s face wrenched. “Caleb’s a fool who thinks as ill of me as you do. We only did business with each other out of necessity. Captains—good captains—they’re mighty scarce. I was down on my luck, so I took the first arrangement offered. But every time that bastard looked down his nose at me, I remembered. Every time he ordered me this way or every which, I remembered—”

Slowly, like a muscular animal rousing from its den, Rackham laid the drinking cup aside. He stood up, unfastened the tie-knot of his drawers and let them fall.

“Just like I remembered every time you gave me the cool stare or the turn-down. Aye—”

Rackham started for the bunk, his immense engorged maleness swaying on a level with Anne’s eyes.

“—we’ll have a fine and lively time in New York. We will provided you learn one lesson. I mean who is giving orders and who is taking ’em—”

“Traitor.”

“You be quiet, you bitch.”

“A traitor to the country that—”

Rackham chuckled, terrifying her to silence.

“Ah, you’re a delicious one, Mrs. Kent. And why should I be at all angry with you? You’ve already called me more names than I can remember. Sure you have! It’ll take me a month to punish you for each—”